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“My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw”

Love’s Labor Lost Act V: Scene. Shakespeare
(Hosannah: an exclamation of joy, adoration )


you force-return me to this excerpted, exceptional phrase,
recovered from a prior dialaogos tween myself & the Lord above,^
an original gift from Him to William, and now you, to us, together

though these conversations, soft but hard unyieldingly,
with each verse a play in the J'accuse game,
games theory states, we are not evenly matched,
the outcome noisy, but generally predictable

the cracked light made famous by a departed muse,
who robbed proudly from *****, passing it on to
a millennium of generations, we honor this transference, by

letting us exclaim: Hosannah!

this silence of love is flawless
no interfering words necessary deemed,
sound without sound, no entry crack visible,
a great plain, a continental ocean, no horizon given,
this then the perfect diamond of humankind,
the glance cross a room, the grazing ******* upon a cheek,
the succinct serenity of perfect, this I grant you


Tyler Atherton Sep 2018

A scarf of red
And a jacket blue
Are all that’s left
Of brothers two.
One was short
The other tall,
But now they’re gone.
You killed them all.
You fell below
And earned their trust
Now you’re covered
In their dust
You wanted more
So you went mass
How could you be
So heartless and cold?
Now this story
With sorrow is told.
The flowers all bloom
And the bird songs tell
That people like you
S H O U L D B E B U R N I N G I N H E L L.
(as imagined by this lumpenproletariat)

When no bigger then innocuous,
     ** hum, happy go lucky
     generic black whole
     sonny and cher full pinhead size zit,
thine pluperfect promising
     mysterious seat of pants whodunnit

     wordlessly wise wedded
     waywardness writ partly apportioned,
     thru totally tubular fluted circumcised
test tossed truly valued throned
     kingdom come emancipation *******,
     released special ops assigned prickly role

     donning spermatozoa swimsuit
owning papas hurtling
     traversing repertoire,
     noteworthy inherent pistol unit
flesh gun firing off biologic
     gum-shun reproductive script,

within zygote, sans courtesy
     squirt of flagellating
     fostering nanobyte superior vicesquad
     programmed fed tidbit,
stalwart sea men meted brooked shield
Dickensian gonadal mutual friend,

     whence gamete extolled finesse,
     (yet tubby revealed
     many a chromosomal trait)
     didst undergird uber reproductive
     up the down staircase
     reinforced by microscopic balustrade,

     yielding one ova Eggland's Best soffit
     rendering (unto Cesaer...)
     **** like magic fusion,
     whereby exiting fallopian tube
     deposition met fertilization,
     hence embryonic initiation

     wrought wondrous ultimately vibrant blastocyst
     triggered uterine settlement,
     ripely channeling
     tree men das transition
signaling ovulation to taper off,
    yet not entirely quit

fertilization triggered secretion,
     analogous quasi
     pollination process, qua gossiped
     biochemical romantic tidbit
     activated via powerful
     ****** popgun "hello kitty" visit,

milky dollop hormone
     exquisite in utero exposition,
     human female body electric
     generated chorionic gonadotrophin (hCG),
official warrant issued
     drafting subsequent surfeit

secretion spured double helix spin off
     flawlessly choreographed
     following impregnation,
     whereby molecular sized blueprints
amazingly graceful processes
     promulgated propensities

     prospecting proven
     (survival of the fittest) atavistic properties
     concentrated subatomic activity
engendered secure ankh cur,
     where wick keel lee reader rabbit
burrowed within amniotic

     filled sac didst outwait
nine month journey,
     a real swell gambit
for mother and child,
     thence bundle of joy
     exited birth canal.
Jim Musics Apr 2018
There are many tiny punctures in my finger  and thumb tips.
The area outside that I cleared looks good though.
Special pink raspberry bushes will be planted there.
When ripe, I'll make a little compote and put it on good vanilla ice cream.
I imagine the um sounds and closed eyes of enjoyment when it's eaten, at the end of a perfectly warm day.

When I play guitar tonight, my fingers will hurt when I push the strings to the fret board.
I won't feel it after the first few notes.
I'll hear my voice, from the inside, singing of this day.
I will hear my guitar, from the outside, singing with my voice.
I will forget my fingers.
I will be in love with this world.
Thanks Verlie
when blizzards rage and howling
   arctic winds did blow
profuse precipitation packed Philadelphia
   til white aery mountains did over flow

meteorological heft wrought pinkish glow
polygons pin wheeled and pirouetted
   landscape imprint pure as driven snow
diminution of visual acuity

accrued from two score plus nineteen birthdays
still marvel at freeze-dried raindrops
   reaction toward crystalline phenomena
   continues to grow

kaleidoscope of multitudinous
   hydrospheric blitz krieg terrestrial show
metaphor wrapped in supreme whiteness
   from singular entities high to low

mother nature imbues testament  
   teaches to offer self for world to know
as corporeal of flesh and blood
   we forget identity among human row

subtle riddle well hidden in molecule
   two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen in tow
offer quiet sermon to cherish beliefs
   and personal paradigms vis a vis status quo.
Diána Bósa Dec 2017
I've seen the stones;
the sphinx's heart,
the tears of the sand,
the touch of the wind,
the taste of the silence,
the plenty of the vastness
- all, though, existed
without rhyme or reason
for as the shimmering firmament itself,
you towered over me.
nadine Nov 2017
you do not smile in portraits
because you are terrified
of your own unwavering gaze
back at you;

the blemished sentiment of
happiness younger than the spark of noon diminished into an infinite pail
of abyss filled to the brim with
unforgiving despair clanking like
clumsy church bells.

you are reminded that you are
nothing but a vessel,
prevaricating questions that have etched long enough onto your skin,
emaciating the fragments
of existence that you
desperately clung onto.

you are reminded of the time a boy
whispered he loved you as if he meant it but the glaring reflection of your dismal eyes crawl on your back,
drowning the shrieks in an
ocean of happiness you cannot
indulge yourself in.

a storm of consternation submerged
from the empty hallways
of vintage photographs.

sans hope;
sans love;
sans everything.
it got messy at the end but heY i still like it
warp Apr 2016
I loved you for who you are,
I accepted all of your flaws;
You made my heart grow flowers,
Yet, you never knew.

                                                        ­                                    I was always your *silent
lover, and;
                                                            ­                                                      I'll never cease to be.
                                                             ­                                                                 ­  I cried your tears,
                                                          ­                                              Have you ever cried for me?

Why, I haven't the slightest,
Torturing my young heart,
I have never loved anyone more than you,
On the contrary, love is unfamiliar to me.

                                                            ­                                                    I wish you could read this,
                                                           ­                                  Though, I doubt you ever would:
                                                        ­                                                              Y­ou may erase me,
                                                           ­                                                              But I'll never let go.
It's been a while since my attention drifted from my torment to my heart.
I'm at my limit.
I know I can never forgive you
No matter how much times I try
Sooner or later..

This is hard.
Hard is Waking up every morning back in this hell.
Pretending everything is okay.
That as long as you have a distraction, you're happy.
Not knowing why you do, the things that you do.
And keep on doing it.

Hard is eventually feeling nothing but anguish
Hard is knowing everything you do is for nothing.


Knowing that my friend.
No longer exists.
Makes killing you a little bit harder
**Makes killing you a little bit easier.
Taken from an extract of one of my favorite comics about Undertale and altered to describe how I feel.
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